


The Tiger and The Lion

by cigarettesandalcohol



Series: Their Little Lion [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coach/Player Relationship, Come Swallowing, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: "Harry," Pochettino said again, obviously enjoying the sound of the word. Haaa-rrry. Two syllables.Ha - that's like a breath of fresh air, an inhale, a gasp.rry - it's like purring, exhaling and moaning at the same moment. It rolls so nicely off Pochettino's tongue.





	The Tiger and The Lion

"Harry!"

The Tottenham striker was welcomed in the boss' office by the familiar voice with an accent that still made him smile - Pochettino was standing by his cabinet, sorting out some papers when he had politely knocked on the door and then entered.

"Come in, _Harry_ ," Pochettino said, tossing the papers aside while prolonging the first syllable in the non-native-English-speaker way that was still so typical for him.

"Hello."

Pochettino's fists automatically curled at the sight of Harry coming into his office - there was something so boyish and pure about the way Harry always entered any room, be it a press conference room, a dressing room or the boss' office - he was just like a fearful pupil coming to the principal's office for the first time, worried about getting into trouble.

But how could Harry get into trouble? He was just so perfect - his facial features, his eyes, his shy, fleeting smile, and his body that just somehow didn't match with his humble and small spirit of a young boy. The way his looks of an adult, big and strong man didn't match his behavior of a shy schoolboy has been twisting Mauricio's head for some time and he couldn't figure out what was he supposed to do around Harry - 

"Sit down, sit down. How is your ankle?"

"Good, thanks," Harry said politely, sitting down in one of the chairs by the desk.

 "Harry," Pochettino said again as if he was making love to that name. "I hope you'll be okay for the next matches."

"I could play even now - "

"No, no, no - that wouldn't be good. You need to rest a little."

Harry shrugged as in  _Whatever you say, boss_ , smiling a little at the clear accent in Pochettino's voice that always got stronger when the gaffer was really trying to stress something out. Pochettino always sounded so Italian in moments like this. _That-a wouldn't be-a good-a_. 

Pochettino came back to his desk, now actually reminding Harry of his old teachers at school when they used to stand so close to him, looking over his shoulder, controlling whether he was actually doing some schoolwork or just doodling mindlessly into his notebook. _Pay more attention, Harry! You're not_   _as good student as you probably think you are, Kane. Is that your homework?_

Pochettino never had that high pitched, annoyed voice like his teachers did - and he never seemed to criticize him. His words were always only well-meant tips and pieces of advice; and he actually seemed cautious to not be too harsh on him at all times. _Listen to me, Harry. I'm not criticizing you. I mean it in a good way. Understand? You didn't do anything wrong._

"Harry," Pochettino said again, obviously enjoying the sound of the word. Haaa-rrry. Two syllables.

 _Ha_ \- that's like a breath of fresh air, an inhale, a gasp.

 _rry_ \- it's like purring, exhaling and moaning at the same moment. It rolls so nicely off Pochettino's tongue.

Saying the name is almost like making love to it - and he can't get enough, he can't stop repeating it in his mind a thousand times, like some mantra or prayer. 

He licked his lips, leaning back against the edge of the desk, with Harry's legs just inches away from his. The distance was killing him and for a while, he couldn't focus on anything else than the few inches between their knees. It would take one step forward - one step and Harry's personal space would be in crumbles. 

Oh, how much Pochettino wouldn't mind that.

Harry's big eyes were staring up at him with the expression of an anxiously waiting child who's not sure whether he's gonna be praised or criticized.

Well, Harry -  Harry would always be praised in his world.

"I'm glad the injury wasn't worse," he started, pushing his sweaty palms down against the wooden desk. He needed to keep them occupied because otherwise, if he had no self-control, he would have grabbed Kane's shoulders already - push him back in his chair - make him throw his head back and look up, straight in his own hungry eyes. He would do that if he was a terrible boss, a bad person, using his position of power over Harry, yes, of course, in that case, he would definitely do that. "We wouldn't play very well without you in the long run, I'm sure about that."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled, obviously flattered, looking down. Pochettino would swear his cheeks flushed - and in his eyes, Harry Kane was the most delicious man in the world, with the shyly devoted look in his eyes.

Mauricio swallowed hard, not able to take his eyes off Harry's lips. Something in Harry - something fearful and frail and delicate, the fleeting unsureness in his eyes, the nervous way he played with his fingers - it all made him want to grab his wrists and pin him against the wall, pressing his body against Harry's. God, the man was so tall and strong and muscular - but Pochettino was sure in a moment like that, Harry wouldn't even try to fight. He could picture the surprise in the skipper's eyes - the utter shock and inability to get a grip of the situation.

And Pochettino wanted to see that all live. It became too boring to picture those images only in his head - he needed to feel Harry's body under his, gasping for air in surprise, whimpering and blabbering something incoherent.

Fuck, he needed to move if he didn't want Harry to notice his bulging pants. 

He quickly moved away from the desk, walking over to the window that was open and therefore could offer some fresh air; and the fresh air could, hopefully, clean his head a little. "Well, Harry - " He had to close his eyes and try to not nuzzle the word in between his lips for too long. "How's your life otherwise?"

He could hear the unsure gulp behind him - and he imagined Harry looking at his back, puzzled, not knowing what this all was supposed to mean. Did Pochettino really call him in here just to ask him about his life? What is he supposed to answer to that?

Pochettino turned around and was pleased to find Harry exactly with that kind of expression - lost and over-analyzing.

He smiled.

This boy was just way too precious.

"Is everything good?" He made a few jolly steps back to Kane's chair and stopped just right behind it. God, Kane was killing him with his perfection even from this angle - his short, simply styled hair and elegantly long fingers, hands folded in his lap in a way that seemed to be very tense. "You seem a bit anxious - " He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and could feel him straighten his back immediately. It took every part of his consciousness to stop himself from saying _Good boy_ at that.

"You don't call me here very often," Harry admitted, probably trying to find something with his eyes to focus on.

Pochettino's fingers dug a bit deeper into his shoulders; he was enjoying the touch a bit too much - the broad shoulders, muscles, Harry's back so close to his... _body_...

Automatically, he moved one hand up, at the back of Harry's head, and ran his fingers through the short blond hair. Now, Harry straightened himself up in the chair even more and then didn't move, as if he was undergoing some kind of a physical examination - 

Pochettino was sure he wanted to examine every inch of his golden boy now.

" _Harry_ ," he said again for what seemed to be the hundredth time today, only this time, he didn't even bother to hide the moan that accompanied Kane's name on his lips. He grabbed some of Harry's hair in his fist, pulling it down so Harry would be forced to look up - and now, as he was standing above him, looking down in his puppy eyes, all the fascination, admiration and obsession he felt for and because of this _Little Lion_ , as he always called Harry in his mind, turned into a deep, passionate lust to finally have Harry as he's dreamt of it for months. "Oh God, Harry - " The moan he let out in the same moment he pressed his groin to the back of the chair, and most importantly, against Harry's back as well, was deep, filled with all his frustration and desire equally. "Look at me, baby - "

He grabbed Harry under his chin, making his head tilt back even more, pressing himself against it, which required a bit of effort since he had to stand on his tiptoes for a while - but the feeling was worth it, just as Harry's expression. He tried to say something, then swallowed his words, keeping the shocked eye-contact with his boss, but there was no real resistance from his side. His hands were still folded in his lap the same way as before - and his passivity made Pochettino's blood rush even faster.

"Look at me," he rasped out, although Harry didn't really have much of a choice now as Mauricio held his head in one place. "Look what you do to me, Harry."

"The door is not locked," Harry exhaled with difficulty.

 The grip of Pochettino's hand grew tighter as he realized, what has just happened. Kane could have protested, of course, he could have pushed him away, or at least try to get up, or say something, tell him to fuck off or just call him the worst names - but all he cared about was the door not being locked.

Fuck.

Pochettino palmed his own clothed erection while still holding Harry's neck with the other hand; only Harry's desperate gasp made him realize he was holding him probably too tightly. 

 "You know how much I adore you, right?" he asked a question that didn't need to be answered. Harry just nodded, unable to answer.

Pochettino let go of his neck and made three steps around the chair so now he would stand in front of Harry.

That was much better.

That was much more useful.

"Look at me, Harry," he repeated the same phrase for the third time. 

And Harry did. He always listened to him, and his obedience was driving Pochettino crazy because he couldn't think of anything Harry wouldn't do if he told him to - Maybe it was the highest time to try. 

"So you won't be surprised when I tell you I have dreamt about you since I came here - " He kept his one hand on his crotch, moving it slowly, getting himself some of the much-needed stimulation - but by now, the most arousing sight was Harry's concentrated face, silent lips, and wide open eyes. He was listening to his every breath, to every word, and seemed to be as focused as never.

"I have so many dreams about you," Pochettino continued, rubbing the bulge a bit faster.

And Harry gasped, swallowed hard and licked his lips. 

"You like that, baby boy? You know so well what you do to me, am I right? You only play this silent, mysterious guy - who never says anything - but you know it so well. Am I right, Harry?" His nifty fingers quickly got rid of the unnecessary zip and button. "Am I right, Harry boy?"

His voice was dry now, that was all he could tell from the frantically rushing blood that was deafening to him. 

He massaged his hard cock through the cloth of his underwear, watching Harry's stoic, pale face that was just unreadable to him - he couldn't tell if Harry was just sitting there, spaced out, or if he was actually thinking about what was going on, or even planning some continuation in his own direction. He didn't care - as long as Harry's wide eyes were fixated on his slowly moving hand that just slipped behind the cloth of his boxers. "Oh, fuck, Harry - " he moaned as he touched himself, and the dizzying wave of pleasure hit him so hard he had to actually lean back against the edge of the desk to not collapse on the ground. "Fuck - you drive me so crazy - with your perfect body - and limbs - and your voice - I love your voice - " He bit his lip, panting heavily, as breathing was still harder and harder with every new move of his hand, with every new said word.

 "Get down on your knees."

There was some kind of weak hesitation in Kane's eyes, the kind that Pochettino would expect after these words, but it was gone within seconds; some question remained written in Harry's face but he still got up from his chair to make one step closer to his boss. He was so close Pochettino could feel the warmth of his body and breath, and he moaned just at that feeling and unable to control himself any longer, he pulled him closer by wrapping his free, unoccupied hand around the back of Harry's neck.

"Come on, Harry," he mumbled, forcing Kane to crouch a little, while his other hand was pumping his dick faster and faster. God, Harry's body was so close he could touch him anywhere now, he could even thrust against his thigh or hip, and the sole thought of it dragged yet another moan from deep down his throat. "You're so fucking precious."

He freed his leaking cock from the underwear harshly and bucked his hips forward just to finally feel Harry's body where he needed it the most - and though it was just Harry's hip and though he was wearing his sweatpants, Pochettino was sure he wouldn't last very long anyway. How many times he's imagined Harry's body, his hands or mouth, as he thrust in his own palm during all those lonely nights - he couldn't even count that.

"On your knees."

 Harry has barely said anything - but his actions were enough for Pochettino as he watched his star player slowly get down on his knees, with his head now being in the perfect position and height for what was to come; and Harry was still looking up at him, almost adoringly, without any useless words, obedient as ever, and it was like having a well-behaved, shy child kneeling in front of him; the thought sent shivers down Pochettino's spine.

"You're my special boy, Harry," he said, pulling his pants and underwear down to make himself more comfortable and free to move. "Understand?"

Harry nodded, looking hypnotized. His eyes were still fixed on his boss' face, not lower.

"You'll always get special treatment from me - " Pochettino's hand pumped harder because Harry licked his lips and exhaled and the breath brushed against Pochettino's skin in an undoubtedly erotic manner. He wasn't sure how long he would last by now. He placed his other hand on the top of Harry's head, petting him in a manner that would more suit a dog, and then held a fistful of his blonde hair. "Open your mouth."

Harry did, still not breaking the eye-contact; and Pochettino had to hold back to not just ram inside him in one second. He carefully placed the shiny and dark tip of his cock between Harry's lips, making him open his mouth wider. "You didn't even hesitate, right, boy? Ever sucked a dick?"

Harry closed his eyes, trying to shake his head. It didn't really surprise Pochettino - in his mind, Harry has always been a well-behaved, well-dressed and serious boy, and he probably gave a small peck to his childhood sweetheart at the age of ten, then moved on to a real kiss at fourteen or fifteen, then fooled around a bit with her just to move in together with her and have children and eventually get married - all with the same girl. He's never probably even looked at anyone else.

Fuck.

His mouth felt perfect, warm and silky and just enough wet, it was hard for Pochettino to hold back anymore. He pushed Harry's head forward, making him gag a little.

"Come on, Harry - I know you're gonna love this - " His accent was even stronger now, especially on the harsh "r". "Be my good boy - yes, open your mouth a bit more - God - "

 He could feel the subtle sucking as Harry's lips locked around him tightly, making him grunt and close his eyes. "Harry - " He entangled his fingers in the short hair, wishing Harry had it longer so it would be easier to just grab and pull and make his head go lower and lower. "Harry - "

This was how he always imagined the word " _Harry_ " - with Kane's stalwart expression, his ever beautiful eyes, and his lips, those lips he wanted to cover with thousands of kisses every day, every training session and every time he scored a goal, wrapped around his cock; this was the scene of all his recent dreams. And Kane's first name moaned in a blissfully ecstatic manner, was all he managed to say. "Harry - "

 His knees were weak, he had to almost sit on the edge of the desk behind him to make sure he wouldn't collapse as Harry started sucking more and more, getting his whole length inside of his mouth, as if this was what he's been used to do for years. Either that, or he was a very fast learner. 

"Harry - " he gasped, pulling his hair to make his head bob as far as it was physically possible. "You're fucking gorgeous - swallowing my dick - just like that - "

A new gag down in Harry's throat warned him about the lack of air Harry was probably getting, and he quickly let his head go, allowing him to take a breath. "Harry - you love it, don't you - look at me, baby - You're such a tease, Harry, you knew that I wanted you for so long, didn't you?"

Harry just nodded, though he didn't seem to be aware of what was being said - his eyes were now fixed on the slightly curved cock covered in precum and his own saliva, just millimeters away from his lips that were in the same state - and as soon as he took a breath, he took the whole length back in, not even waiting for the boss to tell him to do so - 

\- _just like a diligent student, trying to be the best to please himself and the teacher alike_ -

"Fuck, Harry - you make me feel so good - so good that I'm gonna cum - "

Harry locked his eyes with Pochettino's again and Pochettino, half in a haze of his own pleasure, would swear he could see the complete devotion and adoration and love and willingness in them.

"Are you gonna swallow for me, Harry? You need that cum - it's gonna - keep you healthy - "

He couldn't even think straight anymore when he hit the back of Harry's throat - Harry was unbelievably skillful, or maybe it was his innocence and inexperience that was driving Pochettino crazy by now? 

 "Don't stop, Harry - " he mumbled almost incoherently, digging his fingers in Harry's scalp in short convulses, matching the tightening feeling in his whole body as he felt the orgasm coming. "Don't - yeah, baby - I'm gonna - feed you with this - let daddy give it to you, Harry, come on - come on - _oh fuck_ \- Harry - "

His whole body shook violently as it finally hit him, the pleasure, the explosion of feelings, and for a while, he forgot about the whole world - for a second or two, it was just him and Harry, well, Harry's mouth, still sucking, God - he was still sucking - 

"Harry," he cried helplessly, opening his eyes after the waves of orgasmic spasms passed. "Fuck - "

Kane pulled away from him, letting the limp and spent dick slip out of his moist lips, followed by a mixture of spit and come that ran down his chin in an obscene, porn-like way.

With a sudden, inexplainable shame Pochettino swiftly pulled his boxers and pants up and zipped it again, knowing he will eventually have to get himself cleaned - but for now, there were more important things to do. Harry swallowed, he did as he was told because that was what he always did. 

Pochettino touched his stained chin and wiped some of the remaining come away with his hand.

" _Harry_ \- "

Now, the name became an apology.

He helped Kane get up and with a racing heart, he realized there was actually a feeling of guilt and fear over what has just happened. He didn't want to let go of Harry's hand - at least not before he would learn what Kane actually thinks of that.

"Harry - " he tried again but couldn't find any right words to say.

The striker looked at him, big sad eyes staring straight into his soul.

Then his lips curled up into a shy smile.

"Thank you, boss," he said in his usual voice as if they have just finished discussing the tactics of the next game and as if there actually was something he should be grateful for.

He left the room without saying anything else, leaving Pochettino standing by the desk with blood pumping in his ears, confused.


End file.
